Hetalian Holidays
by DragonsRuleYourDreams12
Summary: APH  Russia, China, Italy, America, and Turkey spend the holidays together, starting with Halloween! Sorry it's late. OCness. You have been warned. Please read and review. Thanks. Rated for possible language..? They're children. Rated to be safe.


The cold October breeze chilled the five young boys to the bone. Footsteps echoed off of puddled sidewalks as brightly colored costumes flashed through overgrown brush and the boys scurried down the street.

Italy's laughs echoed highest particularly of the group as he leaped ever so mightily over a small puddle. He was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt with a white lacy apron over it and a bowl of fake plastic pasta tied on top of his head. His curl jetted out the side from underneath the white bowl.

The next giggle came from the boy, America, wearing the Superman costume. He tipped his glasses forward on the bridge of his nose and let out a triumphant laugh. He extended a clenched fist forward and raced through the puddle, making sound effects through his giggling as he raced after Italy.

Third in line was Russia, who was wearing a black tux and a tan scarf that didn't match at all. Tucked behind one ear was a bright and lively yellow sunflower, and atop his head sat a pair of fake black cat ears. A fake black lion tail hung from the seat of his tux, pinned in place by safety pins. He jogged after, chuckling lightly.

Following suit was China, who was wearing a red and black Chinese dragon costume. The tail dragged limply through the puddle, becoming soaked and dirty. Not that this four-year-old cared. He simply toddled after, laughing, running only because his best friend, Russia, was running, too.

In the very back of the pursuit line was Turkey, who was wearing a knight's costume, equipped with felt sword and plastic breastplate with a golden lion painted on it. His mask covered his ears and nose, keeping them warm from the cold breeze. He would not have a runny nose tonight, at least. His sword sheath bounced loosely against his hip as he ran.

Italy halted to an immediate stop on the side of the curb. It was hard enough to stop on wet concrete, let alone with shoes that had no traction whatsoever. Without warning, America ran full-speed into the back of Italy. Russia, who hadn't caught on the meaning of "stop" yet, slammed into the pair. The momentum knocked all three boys forward, flat on their faces.

China and Turkey, who had the benefit of being the last in the line, halted to a stop and laughed at the trio on the ground.

"How stupid!" China exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the three. "You didn't stop! You fell over like stupids!"

Turkey chuckled. "You're supposed to _slow down_." He held out a hand. Russia's gloved fingers interlocked with Turkeys', and the Knight hauled the other boy up on his feet.

Once standing steadily, Russia picked America up off of Italy, shoving him to the side. Turkey helped Italy to his own feet. Italy shot a glare at both America and Russia before turning and storming down the curbside with China and Turkey at his sides like bodyguards.

America glanced at Russia, who shrugged. They raced off after the others, their footsteps slapping against the wind.

* * *

After a few hours of competent racing, shoving, yelling, and name-calling, the group reached the last house on their expertly-drawn map of the city. Each house had been hit and each one of the kids' bags were nearly full, and rather heavy.

Russia gave a light sigh. His feet hurt. "Perhaps, guys, that one house would be fine ta skip..." He said, glancing up at the large, old, wooden home that lay in front of them. The windows were crooked and cracked, and cobwebs hung from nearly every broken shaft that the home had to offer.

"Dun be such a wuss, Russia!" America playfully socked the taller boy On the shoulder. "It's justa bunch of fake stuffs anyway. Nutten' to worry about!"

"Yeah, Russia!" China chirped, trying to coax the boy up the steps. "Nutten' will happen! Just watch!"

Turkey folded his arms as he stood beside Russia. Italy took hold of Russia's arm.

"I dun blame Russia, that house is scary." Italy swallowed hard, glancing up to the house's peak.

China confidently strutted up the creaking, broken wooden steps and pounded his small fist against the damp door. It creaked against it's hinges and rattled. China waited several seconds before turning to the group and shrugging. "Nobody's home."

"Imagine _that._" Turkey scoffed. "A broken house and nobody lives here."

"Silly Turkey!" Italy chirped. "Houses can't be broken!"

Russia laughed slightly, prying his attention from the home back to his group.

"Sure they can. It's gotta be broken if nobody lives here." China argued, siding with Turkey.

"Who says they just aren't home?" America huffed. "It's not broken. Besides, it's still standing."

"Uh, guys..." Russia grabbed Turkey's shoulder, pointing back at the house.

"It _is _broken though! Just look at it! Everything is broken!" Turkey growled.

America stamped his foot."It _isn't_ broken!"

"Houses can't be broken!" Italy added.

Russia shook Turkey's shoulder.

"Yes they can!" China yelled back.

"Guys!" Russia yelled, now irritated.

The group would not respond.

His eyes widened as his body shifted to face the door which creaked open. He could see a pair of yellow, beady eyes glaring at him from inside, coaxing him to come to them.

He released his grip from Turkey's shoulder and began walking, mesmerized, up the steps. Nobody seemed to notice his absence, which was fine with him. As he reached the door, his scarf tucked neatly over his shoulders, the eyes seemed to fade backwards, trying to reel him further into the home.

The silver-haired boy glanced through the crack of the once closed door as he slid his fingertips over the doorknob. The rusted, old knob shook and threatened to break in the youth's grip. Russia bit his lip and let go of the knob, not wanting to break what was not his.

He pushed on the door lightly. It gave in and swung inwards, revealing a dusted wooden floor. All he could see was a hallway with a window at the end, and two closed doors on either side of the hall that were supposed to be white but tinted gray with years' worth of dust gathering on the polished wood.

His boots clipped dully on the wood, making footprints in the dust. As he shifted to the other foot and pulled himself through the door, the floor moaned, not used to the new-found weight walking on it, with the absence of inhabitants for the past several years. Russia guessed the house had been empty long before his time of birth.

(lets keep in mind that they are being seen/used as children here, not countries, therefor they aren't hundreds of years old, instead only four years old. I'll explain more at the bottom.)

By that time, Italy had looked away from the bickering group. He noticed Russia slip through the door, and outstretched an arm. "Russia-san! Dun go in there!" He called.

This fairly off-topic statement caused the rest of the group to turn and look at the home. They, of course, did not look fast enough to see the tallest boy slip into the 'broken house', as it was decided.

"Whats he doing?" China asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, that stupid! You dun just go marching into somebody's home!" America protested, a little less loud due to the fact that Russia himself was not anywhere close enough to hear the insult.

Turkey shrugged. "He went exploring."

"_Exploring_?" America frowned. "I wanna go exploring!" He turned and marched up the steps of the home and promptly shoved the door open. He scanned the hall. The door on the right side of it was left open and a small hand print was left standing out against the dust. America concluded Russia had gone through said door.

He turned to the closed door on the left hand side and turned the brass doorknob, pushing the door open. He stepped past the doorway and into the room that it led to.

Four or five old bookshelves lined the walls of the room, and two or three large and comfortable looking chairs sat, untouched, near the middle of the room. There was a recliner with a part of it's fabric missing on the top, and America guessed it was used often for whoever rested their feet atop it.

Books of all sizes and colors ranged on the shelves, all neatly organized. Not a book was out of place or scratched, and an antique globe sat on the left edge of a bookshelf against the wall. A fine coat of dust had collected on everything in the room, causing the boy to cough as he shuffled around inside it.

America glanced up at an old picture of a man that hung on the wall just above a fireplace which hadn't been started in years. Black and burnt coal sat inside the glass chamber of which it was.

Just as America was about to capture the details of the picture that hung so high on the wall, the coals in front of him clicked loudly and sparked into roaring flames that butted against the glass, threatening to break out and swallow America whole.

America screamed loudly, toppling backwards. He scooted back against the wood, struggling to move as fast as his brain was yelling for him to do.

The flames in the glass swirled and twisted, taking the shape of a man with a creased brow and glasses, as well as a long mustache. He roared loudly, finger-like joints of raging fire clawing furiously at the glass, wanting let out.

America screamed again and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He panted loudly, heart racing in his tiny chest.

Russia heard the scream and turned to face the door he had entered. He tilted his head questioningly. He was standing in what used to be a kitchen, which was also covered in a layer of dust. Pots and pans hung from a rack attached to the ceiling, and a stove and microwave were cornered away from the door. A fridge sat against the wall just beside Russia, as well as an island that sat alone in the middle of the kitchen. Nothing sat on the counters, nor was out of place. It was almost eerie, how organized the person who once lived here had been.

Russia shrugged and turned back to the fridge. There was a picture on it of a man with a creased brow and glasses tipped at the bridge of his nose, and a long mustache that curled out from under it. Russia tipped his head at the black-and-white photograph. He hesitantly reached up with a gloved hand and brushed his fingertips across the bottom of the photo, picking at it to see if he could easily pry it down to get a better look at the man.

As if on cue, the fridge door flew open, forcing the tallest boy to snatch his hand back. A drawer beside the fridge flew open and a serrated-edge knife rose from it. Russia's eyes widened at the sight.

The knife shot from mid-air directly at Russia's forehead. Russia ducked out of the way, rolling behind the island. He could hear several more knifes and forks as well as other sharp kitchen utensils clattering against the island and hitting the ground.

Russia kept his back plastered against the wall as he waited for what the seemingly long experience to end, when in reality it only lasted around thirty seconds.

His breath hitched as he waited to hear another knife land noisily on the dusty tile floor, but the sound never came. Russia cautiously peered around the edge of the island and his own eyes deceived him.

Nothing was on the floor. The drawer was closed as well as the fridge door, and not a single fork or knife was to be seen.

Russia forced back a scream and darted out the door in front of him, slamming it carelessly behind him. He panted, gloved hands gripping the wall.

The taller boy looked up to see America looking at him, fear still thickly clouding his eyes behind his glasses. "D... Didja s-see him too, R-Russia...?" He dared to ask.

Russia stared questioningly at America, confused how to answer. Had he seen who? There was no one in the home besides the America and Russia himself, he thought.

America had caught the puzzled look in Russia's gaze. America struggled to swallow quietly. "The man. The one with the g-glasses and mustache, R-Russia. You saw him. I know it." America scanned Russia's violet eyes, knowing the fear that the taller boy was fighting to hide.

Russia looked down at the floor. "Yes. I saw him." He admitted. "But... Alfred, do you think... That the man owned this house? That... He's..."

"Dead?" America finished nervously.

Russia nodded.

* * *

(**Please excuse me if they are all extremely off character. I've seen barely anything of this anime. And please don't criticize me for "having properly known" the series better before I wrote about it. I am trying to. This is my first APH fanfiction. There will be more chapters to come. Sorry the Halloween chapter came so late. I will have the next chapter done soon. Thanks!)**


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